Breaking at the Bend
by metacognitive
Summary: The story of a girl's descent into madness and the man who can't save her. T for subject matter.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Breaking at the Bend  
Summary: The story of a girl's descent into madness and the man who can't save her.  
Characters: Embry Call, Leah Clearwater, OCs  
Notes: I know there are OCs and it can be a squick but there will be no OC pairings, nor any in this chapter. They're a plot device :) this will still remain largely La Push focused, despite significant presence in the Port Angeles area. Also, all my information on the series is based off the four-book collection. Thus Embry's mother is not named Tiffany, as supplied by other sources, nor is she employed as a cashier, etc. I hope this is not too abhorrent to you enthusiasts.  
All information regarding the setting was found using the following source: bit .ly / Z0EpaF. Please remove the spaces. Psychology!Fic. Sources include notes from my psychology class based off David Myer's AP Psychology book and the APA DSM-IV-TR (diagnostic source book for psychological disorders, also online). This story is going to be intense, though this chapter and most likely the next two will not be.  
Title and following quote from Fuel's "Shimmer." Summary recycled from an old old story I had never finished but had posted several years ago. Reviews are appreciated!

* * *

_She says she's ashamed_  
_and can she take me for awhile_  
_and can I be a friend, we'll forget the past_  
_but maybe I'm not able_  
_and I break at the bend._

_We're here and now, but will we ever be again_  
_'cause I have found_  
_all that shimmers in this world is sure to fade_  
_away again_

* * *

It's a little after The Battle that Never Was that Embry finally goes back home to have a normal night's sleep. In the weeks that Jacob has been gone Sam has kept them all busy, worried about the indecisiveness that has gripped both Embry's and Quil's thoughts, and now that the lines between the packs have been somewhat mended Sam has decided it's safe to let them rest. He feels bad for not even greeting his mother when he walked in, merely sagged into his mattress and passed out from a month's worth of exhaustion.

It's that same morning after that he realizes what he's missed out on, not being at home. His mother looks at him cautiously, and he sees that there are new wrinkles on her face. Nereida Call had been a favorite amongst the girls a little older than he - Rebecca Black, in particular, had been rather taken with her, one of the few adults to have never earned any sort of distaste from the younger Black sister. It appears that the fifteen year age difference, and fact that she had been the de-facto babysitter despite Embry's birth out of wedlock, had bred adoration that no one could convince Rebecca to shake. She was only nineteen when Embry was born, and at thirty-six already looked as if she desperately needed a break from everything. Her son felt a pang, almost stood up to hug her, before he remembered he had spent a better part of the last year and a half eluding her at all costs.

He could be a terrible son, and he is ashamed. He could only hope that Sam would give him the chance to make it up to her. But it's more than that, because problems that existed all those months ago still exist now. Embry may not have been home all that often recently, but that doesn't mean he doesn't know what's going on with the rez, or that he doesn't keep an eye out for his mother. Whenever he could he'd sneak off regular border patrol and check on her at the pharmacy, where she worked as one of the nurses manning the building. It seemed as if she'd always be taking classes at the community college in Port Angeles, even if it was only a single class during any semester available. Their life had been that way for years; as a child he would play outside the room, already too mature in his understanding of of his complacency in those hours at the college.

Work hours were being cut short - again. Just before he'd gone through the transformation she'd seen the hours fall, no longer allowed the twelve hours of overtime that had kept them living nicely. They cut her down a further five hours just two months beforehand. She was now at a thirty-five hour a week job and a teenage son that she still planned to send to college. Embry was always smart in school - he knew just how impossible that was going to be for her, even taking out all of her normal expenses. College was again for the rich and his mother was desperately trying to prove them the exception. Embry looks away from his aging mother and the weak smile she always gave him (no doubt wondering when the next time they'll have a meal together will be) to stare at their sparse little home, even smaller than the Blacks'. The walls are faded, peeling in some places, their refrigerator older than he is. Embry looks back to his tiny mother.

"Pancakes?" she says, voice grainy like old honey, still sweet as ever. She finally stopped yelling at him, giving up, and it makes him ache.

"Sure," he says, and reads the newspaper for the first time in years. This time, though, he skips the funnies.

* * *

He dresses in the nicest clothes he still owns - clothes that aren't technically his. He almost doesn't want to do it, but he has do. As it is, Embry pulls out the box of clothes from a man whose name he doesn't even know, packed tightly into a little box. From the khakis and green polo shirt he knows that they are the same size, now, but it doesn't tell him the shape of his face or what made his mother believe he was a good idea.

It's November, now, and he had filled out an application and stitched together a resumé that even he was embarrassed by, and had somehow managed to convince both Charlie Swan and Billy to write him letters vouching for him - it made him miss school, actually, though the letters ended up being unnecessary. He's still going to use them in case his interviewer wanted some more information on him. It's a good hour and a half's car ride there, but if he were to run Embry's sure he could cut it down to half of that. He doesn't really want to show up sweaty, though, so he borrows Old Quil's car (the one that Sam gave to him once he became alpha, the one that Rebecca and Leah stole and drove up to San Juan, the one that he and Quil and Jacob regularly drooled over - when things were normal) and goes the slow way.

He finds parking easily enough, cars in rows across the blue roofed building. It's twenty minutes early, but he walks in anyway, nervous. The receptionist is a woman who is maybe his mother's age, her roots a brownish blonde compared the straw that appears to be piled onto her head. She has pink horn-rimmed glasses and a mole at her mouth, painted as brightly as her glasses. Blue eyes take in Embry's baby face with bemusement, a look that quickly turns into appreciation somewhere around his chest. Embry curses everything about his physical appearance in that moment before she gives him the okay to sit down, eyes burning a hole into his back when he turns to the waiting room. There are a couple people there - a battered-looking pregnant woman, sniffing every few minutes, a man in a red shirt who fidgets intensely, and a young family of four with a son and daughter. They all look like they're seeking treatment, leaving Embry self-conscious.

In the time that he sits there, jiggling his leg, the hyperactive man is called in, the bruised woman takes a hushed phone call, and an older couple in matching Hawaiian shirts walk in. The man smiles at him when they sit across the room, a gesture Embry tentatively returns as his wife gives him a suspicious look. It's then that the receptionist calls his name, says, "Office 102, honey, Sadie Edelson is there for you," while still leering at him. She smells like stale coffee and burnt clothes, and Embry hurries off into the office.

Sadie Edelson is blonde, too, but hers is light like corn husks when she smiles at him genially. There's a huge ring on her left ring finger, yellow gold and all, and she has a firm grip when they shake hands. Embry immediately likes her and admits, "I don't know anything about psychology but I can learn."

She smiles, not unkindly, and says, "And we can teach you, but are you sure you're willing to make an hour and a half drive so often?"

Embry thinks of his mother and the gray strands of hair she tries to hide. He thinks of the last time he saw her smile and realizes it was when he did well on that Algebra test in sophomore year.

"I'm willing," he says. She smiles, says, "Well, Mr. Call, I think we'll have to explain the perks of being a residential aide to you then."

* * *

He gets home in time for a late lunch, finds Leah Clearwater waiting for him on her porch. He's surprised but greets her; "Hey."

She stands, waiting for him to open the door for them before speaking. "Where were you?" Embry gives her a look.

"Why?"

Leah rolls her eyes, says, "Sam and Jake want to do some final touches on their 'treaty,'" and Embry can hear the air-quotes even without having to see the gesture, "and they wanted a majority of both packs there. Seth was going to stay patrolling, Jared and Paul actually found time to show up," both of them make faces, "and, well." She smiles, lopsided. Embry hasn't seen her this happy in a long time.

"The pups aren't exactly the best kind of security, you know," she says, and Embry sighs.

"I don't want him trying to get me and Quil to come back," he tells the she-wolf, and she barks out a laugh, shakes her head to dislodge stray hairs that stick to her eyelashes. It's getting longer now, the shorter strands reaching half-passed her neck and the longer strands tickling her shoulders. Sam would have ordered a haircut again but Jacob thinks it'll cause an unfortunate trip one day during their races, so no one says anything.

"He's all bark and no bite," she tells him, "ignore him." Embry huffs.

"You've had practice with that," he tells her, and she smirks. "I'm the best at driving Sam crazy," she admits, but then turns serious as she watches him scribble a note for his mother.

She narrows her eyes, says, "You know Jake and I are okay with you telling her, right? We all are."

He looks away, back towards the note, and says, "Sam wasn't." She exhales noisily, says angrily, "He is _nothing_ to us now." Embry's head snaps back up to her, nostrils flaring. Her scent is heavy, like salt and water and something so underlyingly natural and her that he still can't name it.

"He's an alpha," he says, and she answers him with exasperation, "But he's not ours."

There's a lull in the conversation, and she says, "He will never be ours."

Before, he would have known what she meant. Such a statement would have been another way to get back at Sam, a comment that would grate on everyone's nerves, but today she says it with something like pride, shoulders thrown back. Jake was smart in making her his beta. She flicks her chin at the front door. She leans against the far wall. "You ready?"

Embry scrubs a hand over his face, says, "Yeah," and they walk out.

* * *

The meeting seems redundant but it's necessary. Quil never shows up - Claire was in town visiting again, so it's safe to say that Quil won't be seen until early the next week when her parents came back down from the Makah reserve to pick her up from Emily's. Collin and the rest sit quietly behind them, staring, mesmerized, at Leah as she swaggers around the beach. It was she who demanded they meet somewhere public, but Embry's pretty sure it's only because she's missed being on the beach. She's back at it with Paul, tossing insults while Sam looks on with irritation. Jacob catches Embry's look of amusement and winks, promising a story for later which Embry starts to dread. Anything involving Paul and Leah is bound to end badly.

Leah will always be too much to handle - sure, they don't get cold anymore, but that doesn't mean she needs to be parading around in the tiniest pair of shorts she can find and a sports bra. Bradley hasn't blinked in at least five minutes, which she of course notices. She grins, knocks elbows with Paul, before sitting down with the younger wolves to ask about how their sisters are doing. The look on her face is one of hungry glee and Embry can't help but laugh. There's a table of food that's all but gone already, and Jacob says, "Soo. We ready to begin?"

"In the middle of a story here, Jake," Leah calls from where she's got a arm slung around Jason Bouche, eleven years old and youngest of them all, who's blushing furiously.

"Please stop harassing my pack," Sam says stiffly, and she snorts, stands up in one smooth movement that leaves the younger boys swooning. "You're no fun," she tells him, and saunters to stand next to Jacob, arms folded up on his shoulder. Embry slouches on his other side, grins, and Paul snickers. Jared looks bemused. Sam sighs, rubs his nose, and says, "Let's start."

Embry is slightly ashamed to say that he zones out about two minutes into the discussions, but seeing as most of the information they're covering has already been debriefed at least twice beforehand, he doesn't think he can really be held responsible for his actions anymore. Once again the borders are established, with Sam and Jacob sharing protection of La Push but Sam's pack kept firmly out of the Cullen's huge estate unless asked. There's just too much risk of attention, and Jacob will keep his little monster safe at all costs.

Leah came up with the nickname, which she used openly with the Cullens. The little girl didn't mind, actually adored Leah much to her chagrin, and so no one had the heart to stop Leah from using the name. Personally, Embry could foresee many issues regarding the half-breed's adolescence, which wasn't too far away in reality, but didn't say anything. No doubt Jacob would be insulted; it seemed that imprinting took a lot of the fun out of being a teenage boy, not that Seth was ever afraid to join him in his laments. That was mostly because of the obvious crush Seth had on Jacob, however most of his love was now going to Edward and Co. Leah was not pleased.

Besides some little tweaks in who would be on the rotating schedule for the routes being watched, it remains mostly the same. Some issues - such as the Cullen's very presence - would be revisited later, with the most senior members of the pack coming together to discuss it, but that could be settled on a different day, once that everyone was back on a somewhat normal track. Sam mentions plans on trying to reverse the change to Jacob, who shrugs. "It was a freak thing," he tells Sam, "we'll have to wait and see."

"But is this safe?" Sam asks, "Or at least saf_er_? We can't have a bunch of preteens dropping out of school. We can't have them shifting."

"Watch them," Jake says, "make the best of it. Talk to Old Quil." And he shrugs again. "We'll discuss it later."

After that they start cleaning up, but before long Leah says, "Sam, when exactly are you and Emily getting married?"

Everyone freezes, looking in between the two of them. Even little Bouche looks horrified. Sam gapes, says, "What?"

Leah rolls her eyes, "Have you idiots not set a date yet?"

"Hey," he says, no doubt ready to defend Emily, but she interrupts, "Rebecca wants to know how soon she needs to buy tickets."

With a worried crease in his brow Jacob says, "Wait, why did she ask _you_? And why would she care about Sam?"

A sigh escapes from Leah, always dramatic, skipping out on the bait she easily could have taken, and says, "Because she cares about me." An awkward silence lingers and she groans. "Just tell me the date."

"Shouldn't you know this?" Jared asks, "You _are_ a bridesmaid." The younger pack members begin cleaning, quickly but stiffly, still listening to the conversation.

"I don't keep up-to-date," Leah says nonchalantly, crossing both arms over her chest. A couple of the boys slow in their movements. "Terrible," Jared says, just as Sam answers, "January first." Her face falls.

"That's too soon," she says, and she actually sounds sad. Sam struggles with himself.

When they finally grow tired of the silence that continues to permeate the atmosphere, Paul says, "Well, she'll for sure be able to come when me and Rachel get married." That gets Jacob's attention once more, who pounces on him.

"What?"

"Not that we're engaged," Paul hurriedly says, then scowls at Jacob, "not that that makes a _difference_."

"That's my sister," Jacob tells him, and steps into his space, "so it does. What are you saying?"

"One day," Paul says slowly, mockingly, "we're going to get married, so when that day comes, Rebecca will for sure be able to come visit." He stops, looks Leah in the eye. She's raising her eyebrows, grinning. She looks a lot like she did when Rebecca was still in town, when they used to spend most of their free time together. "You'll see her at some point," he tells Leah, "me and Rachel just need to make things more official before then. I was thinking August."

"Sounds good," she says smoothly, before turning back to folding up the table of food. Her shoulders are a little tense.

"Why does everyone else talk to my sisters besides me," Jacob says, and Embry slaps him on the back, looks out at the waves and then back to the dimming fire before them.

"C'mon man, you've got less pride than the pups right now. Let's clean."

* * *

a/n: none of this is written yet so updates are sporadic. This fandom keeps sucking me in.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Breaking at the Bend  
Summary: The story of a girl's descent into madness and the man who can't save her.  
Characters: Embry Call, Pack(s), OCs  
Notes: I know there are OCs and it can be a squick but they're a plot device :) this is largely La Push focused, despite significant presence in the Port Angeles area. Also, all of my information on the series is based off the four-book series. I hope this is not too abhorrent to you enthusiasts. And while Leah may have seemed OOC last chapter I promise you that was not the case, as her character will have developed post-BD and in this story as well.  
All information regarding the setting was found using the following source: bit .ly /Z0EpaF. Remove the spaces. Other sources include notes based off David Myer's AP Psychology book and the APA DSM-IV-TR (diagnostic sourcebook for psychological disorders).  
Title from Fuel's "Shimmer." Quote from Foo Fighter's "Everlong" which I might have used in a different story but oh well. Reviews are appreciated!

* * *

_I wonder_  
_when I sing along with you_  
_if everything could ever feel this way forever_  
_if anything could ever be this good again,  
__the only thing I'll ever ask of you  
__you've got to promise not to stop when I say when__  
_

* * *

His first day on the job is an overwhelming mess, even if nothing actually happens. Sadie Edelson commends him on a job well done, but just the experiences are enough to make him want to quit. It's a process, an exercise in calamity, but he thinks back to his mother during his rounds and decides that he'll have to deal. Again, he took Old Quil's too-modern car, deciding that he can start running there once he's no longer afraid he'll be fired for showing up smelling like forest. It was a relatively slow day, the waiting room filled with a few people awaiting their appointments and, unfortunately, the blonde lady from the day before, this time sheathed in bright blue. Luckily, Sadie had saved him after only a minute of painstaking lingering. She'd walked him through the day for the most part, save a few phone calls she'd apologized for, and was planning on helping him for his second and third day as well.

"I'd love to guide you through this first week," she says, and gives a little flustered smile before smoothing out the dark green cardigan she's wearing. Her hair is half pulled back, falling past her shoulder blades. "There's a lot to do."

The day is relatively simple for the most part. He monitors hallways with Sadie, who walks him through the maze of a building as she explains the rooms. She greets some tenants—Maloney Heights will be his main area of occupation, she had explained, and it would be up to him and other workers and volunteers to keep the building running smoothly. Here there were twenty-odd people living, with a variety of psychological issues ranging from OCD to Alzheimer's. Embry's great-uncle, up on the Makah reserve, had had Parkinson's for the last ten years of his life, so he figures he'll be alright working for a psychological health center. On the average day, she says, there weren't too many issues, however she warns him that should any problems actually arise he'll need to be able to handle it. "You are aware of some violence?" she asks, "You can respond calmly, timely?"

He thinks back to fights with the pack; "Yes."

Sadie has bags under her eyes and smiles often, tells him, "Good," as if she really is hoping that he can stick around. He almost doesn't, but at the same time he desperately wants to stay too. There's something about the building and Sadie's comforting smile that tells him the center is worthwhile, that he could make a difference. Embry never know what he had wanted to be when he was growing up, and the whole wolf-thing kind of saved him from most of that. But now, following the blonde flash of hair in front of him, Embry thinks that he might have been able to help some people as a psychologist, too. The soothing sounds of the building are his kind of place, and to actually help people? As fantastic as the whole werewolf/shape-shifter thing is, it really doesn't bring anyone a sense of _right_. No one knows what happens—rather, they're usually the bad guys. The kids at the high school still whisper about them, and the rumors at the middle school are pretty bad too. Jake and Sam are still grappling over that particular issue, and Embry doesn't blame them. It's a pretty messed up situation, but Embry and a few of the older wolves, Jared in particular, are trying to look past that. They want more than what the rez has to offer, even if Embry is taking a less stable route by refusing schooling.

All morbid things aside, the building is impressive, decked out with more first aid kits than he's used to (and he maybe,_ possibly_ begins to plan on making one for his mom, and probably the pack, because more often than not someone is hurt. Usually Paul, but that's not the important part). The halls are long and white, but the movement of other aids and patients gives it a life that Embry wasn't really expecting. It's not dreary, not in the long run, not that _that_ changes the fact that it's a lot to take in. There's so much; there are rules and expectations and apparently a huge binder that he'll be receiving once Sadie digs it out of her office. "We don't get a lot of new faces," she says, apologizing, even as Embry frantically tries waving her off. He'll never deserve any of the apologies he receives, he's sure of that.

"Any questions?" Sadie asks at the end of the day, five o' clock. He's expected at nine the next day, and Wednesday too, however his regular hours will start at eight and end at four, hopefully. Embry takes a look around the waiting room, sees that the receptionist for the day is a younger woman with a soft face and light brown hair. She keeps her head down, filing away what looks like a monster of papers and slips. Embry looks back towards the woman he's spent the day with, and says, "I think I"m okay for now."

She smiles again, and like the rest of them it's a tiny genuine thing, and says, "Great, I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

When he gets home dinner is nearly ready, his mother draining the pasta in the sink. He takes a sniff of the pot on the stove, gets a strong sense of tomatoes, basil, garlic, and his stomach rumbles appreciatively. Nereida jumps and turns around with wide eyes. "Embry!" she exclaims, and smacks him on the arm with the mini-towel she has draped over a shoulder, "_Warn_ me next time you walk in! Might give me a heart attack..."

Embry winces a bit at the last comment, thinking of Harry Clearwater, but his mother had never been close to him and his family, condolences the only thing she really had to deal with. She's moved on from that part of the conversation already though, and moves the bowl of pasta to the counter closest to the stove, stirring the sauce contemplatively. She looks up at Embry, says, "Taste this," as she holds the spoon out to him. He leans in, taking a quick lick of the tomato-like paste, and chews a bit. His mother gives him a bemused look.

"It's a little thick?" he says, questioning, and she sighs.

"Okay," she says, "let me just add some...not salt that will make it worse...and I just drained the pasta..."

"Just add saltwater," Embry says, "it should work the same way right?"

"I'm holding you to that," she warns him, and nudges him towards the table to set the plates.

As it turns out, the saltwater makes the sauce a bit too bitter, not that either of them complain. There's toasted bread and some side-salad to eat as well, Embry having poured them both some iced tea while his mother had her back turned. She frowns at him, says, "You need your water," while Embry refrains from rolling his eyes.

"I drink it already," he tells her, letting her make faces at him as if she were still a kid, and then says without preamble, "I got a job."

She's got food halfway to her mouth when he says it, nods and says, "Okay," seemingly without realizing what exactly her son has just said. By the time the words make sense she's already got the fork in her mouth, and she practically spits it out, eyes bugging. She chews harshly, holding up a finger at Embry to let him know just how not-done she is with this conversation, and after a swallow of tea says, "_What_."

"I got a job," he repeats and Nereida's eye actually twitches.

"_But_," she says, cuts herself off, "why?"

And Embry isn't sure how to answer. He can't say that they need it, he can't say that she can't provide for them, he can't say he's paying his dues. He wants to, desperately, but he's always had some sort of need for sacrifices, and he won't tell his mother that having a job is the only way he'll feel as if he isn't letting her down. It's a bit too late to redeem himself, but Embry will spend the rest of his life trying if it means his mother will love him as unconditionally as she did while he was still in school. This guilt is eating him alive and no one seems to get that.

"I thought it would be good for me," is what he says, and something in Nereida Call's expression shutters shut, as if he's just let her down in the worst of ways.

"I see," she says coolly, voice carefully pitched. Her heartbeat is a steady_ thump-thump-thump_ when he listens, eyes narrowed and calculating. It's not an expression that Embry has ever seen on her before, even when she'd catch him stumbling in late and even when she found out he was out most nights. There's nothing quite like a mother's disappointment, even a few months before his seventeenth birthday. "I'd rather," she starts again, "see you go back to school."

Embry winces, because of course it's about this again. He'd be a junior this year, with stress about colleges and SATs and a thousand other things he's not sure he wants to be a part of. Leah, back before everything went down, had applied to CSU and gotten in, but then she'd shifted and Harry had died, forcing her to stay in La Push for the foreseeable future. Paul had mentioned it, once, during the nastier phases of Leah's time with Sam's pack, had sneered at her and called her a failure. It was easily the most dangerous he'd ever seen Leah, who'd managed to pin Paul within seconds, barely a scratch on her as she sunk her teeth into the meat of Paul's shoulder. No one said anything about CSU to her afterwards, and that was the end of that. He wonders what she would have studied, sometimes, but in all honesty Leah is too distracting a force by herself to focus on for too long.

Neither one of them say anything for a long time and gradually Nereida's expression relaxes, though there's still that lingering piece of resignation, disappointment soaked into her features in a way Embry fears will ever go away. He's trying to make things right but he doesn't know if he still has the chance to.

"Embry," his mother says, voice heavy. He looks down at his too-salty spaghetti, bitten bread. The table is scratched and old, slightly shaky, and his mother says, "Baby, I wish you'd have just stayed in school," before they settle into an uncomfortable silence and finish dinner.

* * *

The next day at work is mostly the same, meeting more of the regulars that stay at the home. There's an elderly woman with developing Alzheimer's, but she smiles delicately at Sadie and Embry when they're introduced (or reintroduced, as is Sadie's case), carefully shaking their hands.

"My name is Priscilla," she says, a faint accent in her voice, and Sadie says, "So nice to meet you, Priscilla, my name is Sadie. This is Embry," and then Embry is unceremoniously shoved into the day-to-day happenings of the center. There are a bit more hands-on activities, mostly introductions, but it's less frazzling than the day before which is something Embry appreciates. He hasn't been nervous like this in a while, and the feeling catches him off guard. No doubt it's largely a result of the conversation with his mother, but it still doesn't sit well with him in the grand scheme of things. He is able, however, to put the odd feelings aside, because Sadie makes no comments about his demeanor, nor does it seem as if she realizes anything is wrong.

"These are our low-security patients," she says, and takes his expression as one of wariness rather than confusion. "Don't worry, everyone is mostly stable, however due to their diagnoses there might be some higher-level security measures implemented. It's all to keep everyone safe, including the patients."

"Alright," he says, "sounds good to me." Sadie smiles. It's right as they're walking out, however, that the day curdles just a bit, makes him leave the job with a sour taste in his mouth. A girl comes up to them, hand on Sadie's arm, and all of a sudden his nerves are on fire, something primal within him screaming danger.

"Mrs. _E_delson," she says, a peculiar pronunciation of her words immediately noticed by Embry, "how _are_ you today?"

Sadie smiles, a tiny little thing that pales in comparison to the one that Embry's quickly grown used to. He can barely make out the unease in the air, so subtle that it's obvious that Sadie has had ample time to become used to the girl—woman, now that he looks at her, perhaps just a bit older than Leah. She's got an odd look to her, eyes this side too vacant and a pink, pouting mouth. She smiles as if dazed, but she smells like happiness, like moss and fresh ink. "I see you're doing well," Sadie says, and Embry catches the undertones of it, the unsaid today. The brunette smiles at Sadie, turns to Embry and says, "Hello, I'm..._Chlo_e. You can call me Chloe." Her smile is genuine but still sits wrong with Embry, though he takes her hand anyway.

"Embry," he says, and then Sadie is leading him out.

"Sorry," she says once they're at the front desk, the same brunette from the day before there. This time she glances at them, though the phone call she's involved in takes up most of her attention quickly. Sadie says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "that was Cloris-called-Chloe. She has BPD, one of the more serious cases. Not that that explains her behavior." She shrugs helplessly, smoothing her pink sweater with what is easily recognizable as compulsion. "She's been here a month and is currently going through a twenty-week program that's had some positive effects on others with similar symptoms and-or BPD."

"I hope she gets better," Embry says, confused by both the phrase DID and the nervousness that's now obvious on Sadie. She's even more tense than she had been while speaking with Chloe, but again the woman shrugs, says, "We'll see," before bidding him goodbye.

Before he goes, though, she gives him a binder of diagnoses and their subsequent treatments, filled with notes on how to handle patients based on a variety of criteria. It's pretty heavy duty, and when he pages through it during her explanation he sees notes in the margins, a slew of colored pens making adjustments to the suggestions. One stands out: Don't let them get to you, tucked underneath a bullet point list of behaviors meant to be avoided. He shivers, starts thinking of wax museums and ghost towns. Maybe it's not worth it—then he thinks of his mother, of months of no sleep, of a life without an education. He thinks of Chloe's empty green eyes.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he says to Sadia, clutches the binder to his dark tee.

"Have a good one," Sadie answers, and the ride home is silent.

* * *

a/n: boring update but I wrote the second and third sections today in a burst of inspiration. Next update TBA.


End file.
